


King of the World

by Onlyplatonicirl



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dusttale (Undertale), its a lil edgyyyy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 06:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onlyplatonicirl/pseuds/Onlyplatonicirl
Summary: He finally figured out who was the one in charge.[I wrote this as a small brain break from TCOTI - short little ficlet]





	King of the World

Sans stared at the throne.

King Asgore’s, the Ruler of all Monsterkind and the highest faction of royalty’s, dust was under his feet, crushed by his tennis shoes. Nothing too out of the ordinary - the old pushover was always pathetically easy to knock down. Sans had stopped trying to really fight him anymore, because in one hit Asgore would crumble away into the dirt, his overly majestic garments tumbling to the floor with his remnants. For all of his intimidating looks and speeches, the bastard couldn’t protect anyone, not even himself.

Sans subconsciously twisted his foot into the granules of what was once the king. Pathetic, really. Even during his first couple tries, Sans would always emerge victorious. It didn’t matter how weak he was, how inexperienced, Asgore would die, unable to handle their combat, trying to convince him that this wasn’t the right path-

-And then immediately died via bone through the heart. I mean, was he even trying?

Apparently not. It seemed he was one of those monsters with too much compassion in their souls, giving everyone a second chance no matter what because he belie-

…

...Believed in him. They believed in him, that he could do better, that he could change, but they were blind. Blind fucking idiots. They couldn’t see that this was the only way, his last option. It wasn’t his fault that what used to only be a tactic to defeat that devil child soon became a hobby, until the hobby became a passion until he had swept the entire Underground clean over and over again for the fun of it. His favorite part was memorizing everyone’s responses and making a game plan - Get to Alphys before she kicks her own bucket watching Undyne, disable security cameras, kill strategically and they won’t have a warning. They’d never see him coming.

They never did.

He had been able to achieve what that moronic demon never was capable of - a full genocide. Because while the kid hobbled around in plain sight with their knife like a mentally impaired monkey, he was selective, crafty. But no matter how clever he was, he could never get all of them. One or two would escape death, pissing him off severely when he found that his LV count was a few EXP points lower than it had been. So he kept trying, and trying, and trying again. Until finally, an evacuation had never been called because over the course of 387 Resets he had learned how to kill everyone without so much as a public warning.

Everyone in the underground. Not a single monster had escaped, gone into hiding, or avoided him.

He even kept a list of those who escaped his grasp to hunt them down next time. There was always a next time, anyways - he had all the time in the world to perfect his art. And that’s what it was - an art. This game had originally started as a way to get back at that child, but soon opened his eyes to the reality of the world that they lived in.

No hope. None. 

And the two of them could remember, anyways - they were the superiors in this endless game. They had said that it was only a matter of time before Sans realized it - but he did, he just didn’t want to admit it. They day he did was the best day of his life.

He became addicted, it was like a drug, the acrid smell of dust in the air, and he could he could recognize the taste of it on his tongue - pungent but sending him on such a massive power trip it canceled out the foul taste. And the fear - good god he loved their fear. Their betrayed faces, looking at their friend in horror and disbelief. Sometimes he’d play with their lives before he ended them, just wanting to drink in the terror.

It was incredible. He cursed his former self, such a goody two shoes, defending brainless programmed creatures, stuck in a cycle, saying and doing the same shit over and over again. He was sick of it. Their lives were worth nothing.

He shook some of the excess dust off his shoes, his eyes still locked on the throne. That grand, glorious, lustrous throne, shining golden with polish and lined with a royal purple plush for the seat. Such elegance and power for someone weaker and more cowardly than a fucking snail.

It was worthy of someone who was truly powerful, someone who could easily dominate the rest of Monsterkind with an iron fist, someone who made others cower beneath their reign, someone who no one even thought about opposing, infallible. His first thought was the kid, and he laughed at the thought of them sitting on the throne, wearing Asgore’s tragically oversized armor and holding a trident in their grubby little child hands. To consider them powerful compared to him was like an infant to a hitman. Completely defenseless, and they never saw what was coming to them.

They never expected Sans to absorb their soul.

And from there, things just got better. Their power to turn back time was now his, and his power grew exponentially with every kill. Resets didn’t even bring him back to LV 1, like they so annoyingly did. It got to a point where it just kept climbing. 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32.

Level 32, and he felt raw magic coursing through his bones, an intoxicating feeling. With every level he climbed, he felt his sanity slipping away, replaced with a fierce bloodlust. He was more powerful than all of them combined.

His physical appearance had even changed a bit - he was half a foot taller, with a little more point to his teeth and a more feral attitude. And the other’s reactions to his new form were priceless, especially when they met his glowing red eyes with theirs.

That’s what they needed on the throne. Someone who was truly in control. Who with one look, could reduce his enemies to dust.

Who was really in charge of this world?

Sans looked down and rooted through the pile of dust by his feet. Covered in heaps of grey granules, there was the former King’s shining armor. Sans slowly bent down, and took Asgore’s crown into his hands - it was covered in opulent jewels and pointed into three spikes of what looked to be solid gold. An embellishment of beauty and superiority on a pathetic pushover of a being. It made Sans sad, it really did, to see all that wasted potential.

He turned the crown over in his hands a few more times, observing the relic that carried so much weight with it, something that dictated whether one monster could claim having more power and control over the others. Heh.

Well, it was about time Sans put it in the right place.

He slowly lifted the crown up to his head and placed it on top of his skull. It was a little big for him, but it stayed put.

Almost as if he were in a trance, he plodded along the garden, feet dragging behind him as he made his way to the throne. He climbed onto the seat and smiled.

After all these years, Sans finally figured out who was truly in charge. It was him. He was the ruler of this world.

He was the King of this world.

**Author's Note:**

> ((Not a vent))
> 
> Idk I had this idea late and night and I was just like oh screw it. So I guess I’m posting it. It’s full of grammar mistakes but I’m too lazy to fix thembfdjsihfdusi


End file.
